All We Are
by DedicatedToTwilight
Summary: What the future holds. For Blake and Penn, our real-life couple.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**__ So this was a request from a loyal reader and a lovely person, whose opinions I greatly respect. She knows who she is ;). Also, little shout out for my beautiful family of hardcore DSers. That's right, you know who you are! I don't think I've read something like this yet, so I thought I'd write it myself. I hope you guys like it; this is what fate has planned for another favourite real life couple, Penn and Blake. Enjoy, and REVIEW to let me know if you liked it/I should continue it. Thank you! _

-xoxo-

To a complete outsider, the life of an It-Girl alumnus of a successful TV show is easy. To the slightly jealous and completely ignorant public, it must be nice to be on Karl Lagerfeld's speed dial, BFFs with Anna Wintour and Louboutin's inspiration. To have a table freed for you even when the restaurant is fully booked. To get away without a parking ticket just because your hair is blonder than the sun and your eyes sparkle _like that _in the light. And as much as the tabloids write 'Blake Lively – Blonde, beautiful and down to earth', everyone knows that someone, somewhere, hates the air she breathes because they _assume,_ and not know.

Going to college after the final season of Gossip Girl finished was the failure that brought her the most distress. The most hurt. There had been so much excitement in her heart about three years away from cameras and designers, and in the vicinity of books, history and art. A degree in the History of Art. What could go wrong?

It seems members of the public don't know what it feels like to experience _everyone_ around you thinking they know absolutely everything about your life; from who you're dating to what washing powder you use on your delicates. 'Blake Lively – an Ariel girl.' The most ridiculous thing she has read. Finding out it was your 'friends' that sold the story was a on a whole other level of painful.

It didn't take long for her to drop out; the biggest failure of her life.

-xoxo-

It turns out not every single breathing human being on this planet knows her name, the designers she prefers, and the type of car she drives. The relief of finding the tiniest of villages someone in the middle of France, somewhere where people didn't glance twice in her direction, where she actually got shouted at for letting her dog off the lead, was like a breath of fresh air. It didn't take her long to buy a small house on a hill and move there. Alone. Her boyfriend preferred a life in the city.

And it felt like heaven. Like the best thing that could have happened to her, like the cheapest and best form of luxury. There was freedom in the air, and magic in the sun, and it felt like she was establishing a new type of life; easier and calmer, cleaner, healthier, better, but at the same time harder than she could have possibly imagined. Here she could be who she wanted to be; Christina Blake Lively. She had always preferred it that way around; 'not enchanting enough,' her parents were told.

-xoxo-

'Au revoir, Christina, merci,' her most loyal customer shouts as she shuts the door to her bakery. She feels like she is living the dream; and it is a different dream as to what everyone else assumed it would be. Lovely clothes and Louboutins are a small part of it. The rest is made up of this.

She walks home just before dusk, and she listens to conversations in French on her headphones, translating them easily into French. One of her latest achievements; learning French in record time. Life was looking up for her.

Ten emails from her mother and sisters.

'_Hey, Blakie, we all miss you!'_ She smiles at the photo of everyone that truly mattered in her life. I miss you, too.

One email from her agent.

'_Blake, seriously, we're losing face here. I know you're getting these, so please answer my damned pleas. Come home. I'm trying to save your career and your money. I have Baz Luhrman and reps from Versace waiting for your call. Where are you, and what the hell is keeping you away from getting on the next flight to JFK?'_

Delete. You wouldn't understand.

She has more spare time on her hands than she's had... ever, and at first it's hard to figure out what to do with it. But it doesn't take long for so many things to capture her interest, she finds herself struggling to fit it all in. She learns to ride horses, and takes an art class in a neighbouring village and she feels freer than she's had in a long time.

-xoxo-

She opens her wardrobe every morning, and it takes her exactly two minutes to decide what she's wearing that day. She cannot understand how she could waste so much time in New York. Time she'd never get back. Life is so much simpler here, and while she loved the excitement and standards of the city, she relishes in the peace of the better lifestyle. She gets compliments on her appearance every day, and one appreciation from a lovely old lady that doesn't know her top is one of the very few Chanel chemises she brought with her, is worth a lot more than a thousand 'Blake Lively wears Dior like it's meant to be worn, while Jessica Simpson should have stayed at home.' Where is the competition in this simple life? She sure as hell doesn't miss the harshness of it.

She's gained a couple of pounds, if not more. And who the hell cares? How refreshing.

-xoxo-

'_Read this: _

"_Blake Lively seems to have gone off everyone's radar! The blonde beauty has been MIA since Gossip Girl, the beloved drama, ended with a shortened final season. Rumour has it, eccentric director Baz Luhrman has chosen her to play the lead role in his adaptation of 'Anna Karenina', but it seems the girl whose legs seem to go on forever and ever is ignoring the man's needs. Don't you think this diva attitude needs to be toned down a notch, Blake? Charlize Theron and Scarlett Johansson are among the few others rumoured to be interested in this coveted role._

_Moreover, it seems Ryan Reynolds is also fed up with Blake's mood swings. Rumours that the pair have split have been confirmed by none other than the man in question, when he was spotted holding a girl's hand in NYC last Friday. How do we know it's not Blake? She's a brunette. "_

_Do you think I enjoy reading things like this? Damage control needs to be done! Get your ass in the States!'_

So she shuts down her laptop and zips a bag around it.

-xoxo-

'Excuse moi?' she hears from the front of her shop in the worst French accent she has witnessed in almost a year of living here, and rushes to the counter to meet the customer.

Fate has the weirdest ways of bringing people together, but she could swear that if she wrote a book about this one, no one would buy it because it is so... improbable. She doesn't need to see his eyes; she recognises the slightly wild hair, shorter than she remembers it to be, and sculpted cheekbones, evident jawbone, trademark stubble. Even his faint smell is the same; and it brings back vain memories of a life that now doesn't seem reachable.

His nose is buried in a book; 'Speak French like the French – a guide to clever conversation.' She tries to hold back a laugh as he tries again. 'Voulez vous...' he starts, and throws his head back. 'No, that sounds wrong,' he says to himself, sighs, then brings his head back to try again. In the process, he sees her, and his head does a double take to ensure he wasn't wrong.

'Blake?'

'Is that what you say to all the girls? Because I think I could finish that little sentence for you...'

Penn laughs and walks around the furniture, picking her up in his arms. 'What are you doing here?'

'I... live here.' It's the first time she's had to say it out loud, and it sounds even better than it did in her mind. He sets her down and places his hands on her shoulder, pushing her at a distance so he can take her in. 'What are _you_ doing here? If you're looking for Brooklyn, you missed a few left turnings, give or take a thousand...'

Her hands rest on his forearms, and as their eyes meet again for the first time in a long time, she realises that he was one of the very few aspects of her old life that she actually missed.

'I'm meant to be finding myself. But in the process, I keep losing my directions. I missed the last bus from a station I wouldn't know to get back to anyway, I have barely any food in my backpack, and the only information about my whereabouts is that it's somewhere in beautiful France.'

'Well, I can't let the boy starve. Wait here a second, I'll close up early today. I have a place not far away from here, and you need somewhere to stay.' She is excited about the idea, and he can see that, and he doesn't refuse her because he remembers she wouldn't listen to him anyway.

-xoxo-

It's quite cold outside as autumn comes close to its end, so Blake lights a fire and digs out an extra duvet. They sit on the floor, legs crossed, around a wooden table, occasionally sipping tea out of their cups.

'So I think some tabloids have resorted to giving eight-figure rewards for photographic evidence of your existence and location. It changes to nine figures if there is a juicy rumour attached to it,' he comments, and bites out of the sandwich. 'This is really good, by the way, you haven't lost your touch.'

She smiles. 'Then I'm glad I left. I am much happier here. The air, the people, the tiny buildings... It's liberating.'

He looks at her. _Really _looks at her, and for the first time in a long while, she can feel her cheeks change colour. She hasn't blushed over a boy in... a long time. And the feeling that gives her... Something out of the pages of ancient history.

'Well, you look good, B,' he says. 'You look... healthy. Happy.'

'I am. You haven't changed, and I mean that in the best way. You still look like the dapper twenty year-old every girl fawned over. Quite popular with the ladies.'

There is a cheeky glint in her eyes, and if she knew how to look, she'd find the same ones in his.

'I didn't pay attention to it. When I was twenty, I had a very beautiful girl to look after.'

The strangest tension rises between them, and she finds herself smiling slightly at it. 'Well, it's late, and I'm tired, so I'm going to go to bed. Please promise me you won't bail before I wake up; I'd feel so cheap. Although, if you really want to find yourself, then hang around here for a bit longer. It seemed to do the trick for me.'

She winked at him, and turned off the lights, but he could still see her in the vague light of the fire. 'Good night, Penn.'

'Sleep well, B.'


	2. Chapter 2

The realisation that she isn't alone in the house when she wakes up is not something that baffles her, and _that_ is what feels strange to her. She sits at her antique dressing table, places Penny on it, as she does every morning, and runs a brush through her tangled hair. She observes her reflection; happy. As it was every morning since she'd been here. As it will be every morning until she leaves here.

She is too busy thinking about nothing to notice the bundle of coffee coloured curls steal something off the table and run away quicker than Blake ever imagined.

'Penny, come back here!' she shouts, and starts chasing after her, carefully placing her feet on the wooden floor, not to wake the man sleeping in her living room.

'Penny, where the hell are you?' she whispers, and the dog suddenly crosses her path from one room and into the next. Blake follows, searching the floor for her tiny puppy, when she notices him.

His hair is wet and messy, tiny drops of water sliding down to his already damp shoulders and arms, and they way his towel hangs on his hips makes her remember ancient mornings in a trailer they made their own, and an alarm set for six on a clock that showed five thirty because they woke up early to make it feel like they were spending the morning in bed. He holds her dog with one arm, and removes the stolen item from her mouth. By his facial expression, she already knows what it is.

'Gosh, I can't believe you still have this thing.' Big, and bold, and such a fake silver, it didn't even shine in the light. A bright red heart at the end of the chain. Something meant to be kept, not worn, something he won at some fair at the end of one summer... Something symbolic.

She bows her head slightly, embarrassed, and a gentle smile adorns her perfect face.

'I... wanted to bring some on my old life here with me. Remind me of who I am when I get too caught up in the perfection of this world...' she explains. She can't mention that the chain was one of the few things she specifically packed in her suitcase.

There is a strange, tense silence around them, and it's weird how often that happens around him lately. Something she hadn't experienced since... a tired 2007.

'Well, it seems Penny still likes me,' he comments, ruffling the dogs ears.

'Don't flatter yourself, she just remembers your weak ability to resist her puppy dog eyes, and your bad habit of feeding her when I'm not looking,' she retorts, and sneakily breathes in a sigh of relief when she thinks he isn't looking. He lets her think he isn't.

Penn laughs gently, and sets the puppy down. 'Breakfast?' he suggests. 'You may still be able to cook, but I still make some mean pancakes.'

'I'll go set things up, while you go and put some clothes on!' she comments, feigning disgust, and giggling a little at his offended face.

'You used to prefer me without!' he teases, wiggles his eyebrows and rushes out of the room before she can respond. And the familiar way she feels when she is alone worries her. She knows what could happen next.

-xoxo-

He pads around her living room, his feet making no noise against her floor, and the most natural smile plastered on his face. He leans against the door frame of the kitchen, and watches as she tries to get a head start on the cooking. He knew she wouldn't have been able to resist not meddling with some ingredients.

She is completely enthralled in her own world, and as she sings along to some old French song on the radio, he remembers so many other similar moments from what feels like a whole lifetime ago. And the first thing he wants to do, the one thing he finds himself struggling to refrain from doing, is walking up behind her and snaking his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him.

'I know you're standing there,' she says, interrupting his thoughts. 'Don't judge, okay? I just couldn't help myself.' There is a tone of laughter in her voice, and he laughs a little at the realisation of it.

He walks towards her, and puts a finger in whatever she's preparing. 'The only thing I'm judging is the amount of effort you've put into this. It's amazing!' he compliments, and finds himself having to once more resist the urge to kiss her cheek. And he's glad he doesn't have the time to contemplate over why these urges surface.

-xoxo-

He helps with the washing up, ignoring her protests, and as she dries their plates, he splashes some water in her direction, giggling when she squeals.

'So if you don't mind, I've decided I want to hang around for a while. This place is... kind of growing on me.' He avoids glancing in her direction, and she is glad he does, because her face is the brightest it's been in a while.

'Why would I mind? Just warning you, though, I hope you like the couch, because I'm not giving my bed up for you.' Their eyes meet, and as they smile goofily at each other, she swears she sees something in his that scares her.

-xoxo-

If someone asked her a few days ago how she would have made her life better, she would have said her life was perfect the way it was. But having him there proved her wrong. She'd been happy and fulfilled until he showed up, but afterwards things changed for so much better. She laughed more around him in the next few weeks more than she had the whole time she had been in France. Every time he would try and address a customer in a badly learned French, or attempt to balance a plate on his forearm as he carries it to the table, or teach clients swear words in English as he drops it; it was little moments like this that made her day that much brighter.

As they walk home one night, she realises that she remembers exactly what it is like to be close to him, closer than anyone he knows, and she knows that she likes the feeling. She remembers the way he used to make her laugh, and smile, and giggle for no apparent reason to anyone but them. And she decides that _this_ is the life she wouldn't trade anything for.

They watch the ending of a French movie, her legs resting across his thighs, a soft blanket covering both of them.

'So...'he starts out of the blue, distracting her attention from the screen. 'How come Ryan isn't here?'

The shock of a reality she became really good at ignoring hit her, harder than she expected it to, and for a moment she didn't even know what to respond.

'I'm sorry... You don't need to tell me, I was just...' He frowns slightly before her, and his blink lasts longer than usual, and she remembers he did that when he felt uncomfortable, but as she thinks a bit more about it, she realises it is very simple.

'We broke up.'

His eyes search hers a moment longer, before he breathes out 'I'm sorry'.

'That's okay. We just became different people with contrasting priorities. I'm kind of over it now.'

The atmosphere around them is still tense, and she realises that this moment is as suitable as moments can get for her to ask a question her subconscious wants to know the answer to.

'What about Zoe?'

He breathes deeply in as he sips out of his mug, and sets it down.

'We ended it just before I left.'

'Oh. I'm...'

'Sorry? Don't be. I'm over it, too.'

It takes him a while longer to continue, and just before he does, his gaze locks with hers, and it's the strongest gaze she has ever felt.

'But she was a lot easier to get over than you ever were.'

_**A/N:**__ I'm not happy with this chapter, but it's a decent continuation. Read and REVIEW and let me know if you liked it. Thanks _


	3. Chapter 3

He touches her cheek and she knows what's coming next. His mouth moulds against hers, and the feeling is tingling and warm and perfect, and there's guilt behind it but she doesn't find it hard at all to completely detach herself from everything and just relish in the moment. Her hands slide up his torso and around his shoulders, and she crosses her arms at the back of his neck, tenderly.

His fingers tentatively touch the bare skin of her back, pressing her gently against him, and, without a thought, a hand drops to her hip, caressing the skin there. There is passion, and something dangerously close to a far too familiar love, and both of them can't wait for it to be over, but at the same time, neither of them wants it to be. Fingers knot in his hair, and hands drop to her thighs, and before she knows it, she's resting on his hips, and they finally kiss like they used to when things were simple. Hunger. Love. Lust. Such a simple combination. So hard to forget. She moans a little, and everything is perfect.

'And cut! Perfect, you guys.'

Her lips are red and swollen as he sets her back on the ground, and her skin now burns where his hands used to be. Everywhere.

Everything was a perfect lie.

-xoxo-

'Joyeux Noel. Joyeux Noel. Joyeux Noel,' he repeats softly to himself as he stares at his reflection in the mirror, his fingers hopelessly attending to a bow tie.

'Relax with your words and you'll sound like you've spoken French your whole life,' she advises as she walks into the living room.

He's always been blunt and realistic, and quite frankly, he's always criticised versions of this exact moment, but suddenly, it somehow stops being a cliché. His breath hitches in his throat as he takes her in, the dress that hangs tastefully to her perfect frame, the flawless hair, the beautiful girl. He blinks retardedly twice, and forces the gentle 'o' of his mouth to disappear. She tilts her head to one side and gently giggles at his expression.

'I take it it's a bit too much?' She walks towards him and finishes his bow tie. 'I always was the overdressed one in our relationship.' He looks in the mirror, at her fingers on his collar, and then at her blue eyes, focused on his in the reflection, and he forgets what went wrong.

'I still haven't quite mastered doing my tie the way you do it,' he jokes, and they realise there was a bit of tension around them once it disappears. 'And you look amazing.'

She beams at him, and he can't help but return it. The uncontrollable reaction. 'You ready for the local Christmas Ball? It's quite the event,' she jokes, and extends her hand for him to grip.

'All I need to remember is Joyeux Noel.'

-xoxo-

She had been to many parties, and balls, and society events, and this one is nothing like any of them. In the best possible way.

It isn't expensive, and opulent, and exaggerated, as if everything is meant to somehow show someone's status and power. There are old ladies in chiffon dresses, and little girls in tulle, and it doesn't seem like the men's tuxedos cost as much as small cars, and the ballroom is small and cosy, and she actually knows pretty much everyone there. The woman that bought exactly the same three cakes every morning, and the eleven year old that would bring her flowers every Sunday, and the grumpy old man that she won over with a free croissant and a kiss on the cheek. It feels like she almost has a family here.

Penn tries to make conversation with some of the people there, and he's complimented on his attire, but he has no idea what's being said to him, so he just nods anyway. She giggles gently as someone tells him they look good together, but he doesn't understand, so he just replies with a dry 'non'.

She chats to a jolly lady who compliments her on her youth, and she laughs good-naturedly when he interrupts with a gentle 'Excuse moi'. 'Would you like to dance?' he asks and wriggles his eyebrows, and she laughs a little and excuses herself as he pulls her to the dance floor.

His hand is around hers, and her fingers play with the edge of the back of his collar, and only after they sway for a couple of times she catches on the tunes they're swaying to.

'Marvin Gaye,' she mutters.

'Distant Lover,' he finishes. 'The only time you allowed me to lead when we danced together.'

She snorts, and covers it with a gentle laugh. 'That's not true...' she argues, her eyes suddenly piercing his. Without even meaning to.

'Okay, maybe it's not,' he admits, and twirls her underneath his arm, before pulling her back in his embrace.

'You're getting a lot better at this, Badgley.'

'You've just learnt to settle for less,' he retorts, and she giggles in his ear, then places her head against his.

He had never been less. He used to be everything.

-xoxo-

'Mistletoe,' they hear in English, and a man holds a little branch of delicate white beads above their heads. 'Tradition américaine, non ?'

She blushes a little and notices him panic just slightly, and shakes her head gently, a hand still resting thoughtlessly in his. 'Nous sommes amis. Just friends,' she explains.

'Absurdité! Kiss!' Everyone chants loudly around them, and she sheepishly catches his eyes with the corner of his, and he leans in just slightly, so she turns her cheek, easing his access to it.

But he catches the tip of her chin in between two of his fingers, and her head swims just that little bit more when he kisses her, short and sweet, and easy, and appreciated by the crowd. Like one of those perfect lies on a film set with artificial lighting and artificial feelings.

And suddenly tears spring to her eyes, and she can't explain it, but she can't help it either, so when no one is looking, she leaves out the back door into the small garden of the venue.

-xoxo-

He doesn't take long to find her, and she kind of knew he would anyway. He takes off his coat and hides her bare shoulders underneath it, and she turns her head away from him just slightly, hopefully without him noticing, to stop him from seeing her cry without any reason.

Any logical reason, anyway.

'You think you can hide from me just because I can't see your face? I know you, Blake.' He kneels in front of her, without caring his knees are sinking in cold snow, and moulds a palm against her cheek, bringing her eyes to him. 'Why are you crying?'

She sniffles in front of him, and he wipes tears from her eyes, and a hand of his slowly finds her cold fingers and grips them gently.

'I just feel so... weak. And it hurts so much to...' Her eyes close briefly, letting a tear slide down her cheek.

'To what? Huh?' She shakes her head, but his thumb caresses her cheek, and his hand is firm over hers, so when he says 'Tell me, Blakey,' she looks at him with everything she couldn't say in her eyes, and says it.

'To still feel like this after so much time... After so many things. To not be able to be stronger than this.'

He smiles a little, just a little, even if it seems like it's the last thing he should be doing, and strokes her hair. 'I know.'

She sniffs, and her words are raw and ugly, but maybe he needs to hear it. 'No. You don't know. You couldn't possibly, because...'

She dries her eyes with the back of her hand, and tries to make her eyes cold and careless as she looks at him, but she can't hate him when she's still so helplessly in love with him.

'Because you're the one that broke up with me. So you have no idea.'

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for taking so long to update, but I've had a massive project to write and have had barely any time to even write this! Next update will take some time, but will happen soon-ish. This is for my lovely DS family, Chiara, Shu, Beez, and everyone else. Because I love you guys. __**Review **__please! _


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**__ This is a quick message for Beez (and anyone else who might have thought the same); I don't know why Blake and Penn actually broke up, but in my story, he's the one that broke up with her. This is not to say that is what happened in real life. Sorry about the confusion. _

'Three minutes, Penn. Where's Blake?'

Rain falls hard against the make-shift roof of the marquee, and there is a loud buzz of many people in suits and dresses and a ceremonious robe. He steps on a white petal on the green of the grass as he rushes to her trailer to find her. But it's empty, and cold, like she hasn't entered it yet. He steals an umbrella that was probably just meant to be used as a prop, and walks in the opposite direction to the amalgamation of people and lights and cameras, his eyes alert for her.

His heart races and his palms tingle, as she sits on the soaked ground behind a warehouse, wet hair stuck stubbornly to her face and white dress stained with a lace of brown and grey, and he witnesses it. She sobs in her hands, quiet enough for him not to realise at first, but loud enough for her not to be aware of his presence until he kneels in front of her, his umbrella thrown to the side, and he removes hair from her face and tears from her cheeks.

Her palms shake on his forearms, and he doesn't ask a single question because he knows she won't answer it, but he scoops an arm under the curve of her knees, another around her waist, and carries her to his trailer.

She holds on tightly to him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, and while the largest part of his mind was busy guessing the reason for her distress, a tiny section couldn't help but relish in the touch. A touch so familiar; and perfect. Nostalgic.

He gives her a little privacy as she changes into some dry clothes, and texts their director.

_Cancel today's schedule. _

She sits cross-legged on his bed, as if she was _she_, and he was _he,_ and there was a _them_ or an _us_ somewhere in the equation. And he sits right across from her, the tips of his knees covering hers affectionately, as if it was 2008.

'Thank you,' she whispers under his careful gaze. 'You didn't have to...'

'Of course I did. It's you and me, remember? We're there for each other.'

She smiles a little, even if her cheeks are drowned in her own tears. 'Well, thank you anyway.'

He doesn't wait for her to shiver a second time; he grabs a blanket off the edge of his bed and wraps it around her shoulders, tucking the tips of her toes in the warmth.

The smell is familiar, and she laughs a little when she realises what it is.

'Is this the same blanket we bought when we went to Crete in the summer of...'

'2009,' he finishes. 'Yeah, it is. Washed since, though. A few times.'

She giggles a little, brokenly, softly, but full heartedly. Enough to make him smile. 'It still smells of sand and your coconut tanning oil. I hated it, and now I can remember why.'

He laughs. 'You wanted the apricot-scented one.'

'With good reason,' she retorts hoarsely, and dabs the back of her hand to her red eyes.

'We wouldn't have the memories if we had gotten the apricot one.'

She looks at him, and he looks at her, like they still know each other, and it doesn't take either of them too long to realise that they still did, just like they always did. She might be hurting over Ryan; and she knows he'll be back the next week, with an apology, a bunch of roses, and the smile that she can't just ignore.

But Penn was there to make things perfect when they weren't. To make her smile when she thought she forgot how to. He was always there. And sometimes she thought she loved Ryan; _really _loved him. And in some respects she did; but she loved Penn more in all the other respects.

When she sees a brunette in a chunky wooden frame she decides she needs to learn to concentrate away from the parts that still loved him.

-xoxo-

She wraps a jumper tightly around her frame and opens the front door, her gaze resting on his back at the end of her little porch. She walks behind him, slowly, watching the wooden steps disappear into the settling snow. She notices smoke rising over his shoulder, and she remembers seeing it all before.

'I see you've picked it up again,' she mutters, nudging her head towards the burning cigarette.

'I only gave up because you asked me to.'

It's dark and so quiet around them, she can hear her heart beating. 'Why did you start again?'

He takes a long puff, then blows it out, gently; Blake finds herself watching the soft clusters of smoke dissipate between the snowflakes. Keeps her mind busy when the silence is too heavy.

'Zoe,' he states eventually. 'She got me into it.'

The blonde smiles sadly; another reason to dislike her.

'It'll kill you if you don't stop-'

'Blake,' he interrupts, throwing the finished cigarette in a near lump of snow, drilling a hole as it fizzles and sinks. 'We can't ignore what happened tonight.' She doesn't respond, her eyes avoiding his, and her arms are wrapped around her for protection. She's hostile; hurting. He wants to wrap her in his embrace and hold her there until she heals, but he's not sure if that would do more good than bad.

'You smell of cigarette smoke. Just like you did the night you ended it with me.' Her voice is weak, frail.

'I couldn't keep up with you.' Her gaze shoots towards his, as if his words trigger something inside her. 'You were growing... so fast. You had everything; and things were still thrown at you. While Chanel was on one line, Louboutin was on another. Your weekends were full, your nights late and your mornings early. You left for LA for a meeting with Donatella Versace and I only found out about it when I got a call sheet with a reschedule.'

'I told you, I didn't have time to call...' She doesn't continue. He was right, and by the way her fingers were knotted in front of her, he realised she knew that.

'That just proves it. I was happy for you, and your success, but I found myself lagging behind. I couldn't keep up with you, no matter how much I tried.'

She sniffs, and drops her eyes to his bare feet on the frozen decking.

'When you told me you wanted a baby...' he continues, gently, and a tear falls from the corner of her eye, and she tries to sob in silence, because old wounds are being opened and there is no way she'll recover now. 'You scared me. You wanted a family, and a marriage, and not only was I not ready, but I felt like I was losing you in everything that was happening around us. I was so young back then, Blake, and the idea of getting married to you while you were more and more absent from our relationship terrified me.

But I wanted you to have your success; you did so much better without me anyway. I knew you'd end up dating someone like Leonardo DiCaprio. Someone who could keep up with the beautiful hurricane that became Blake Lively.'

They stand in silence for a moment, and Penn knows she might not speak to him ever again, but at least she knew the truth. And to him, that mattered.

'I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to hear about it. Leo was the highest profile relationship anyone could ever have; he was perfect. And he was hurting, and I was hurting; we completed each other in some ways. I just needed you to think I moved on. Without knowing I hadn't.'

He shakes his head lightly, and for the first time, his smile is as sad and destroyed as hers. 'You didn't have to hurt me. I hurt myself when I left you.'

-xoxo-

Her head hurts once her eyes open, and for the first time since she moved here, she wishes she was in New York. Where she could disappear in the crowd, even if everyone knew who she was. Where there was always that little cafe in Yonkers, where she could go when things got hard, until someone escorted her out the back door because paparazzi were flooding the place. New York had a lot of escape routes. Her little house in the middle of France had none. She has to face him at some point, and she isn't sure her heart will be able to take it.

She didn't expect the force of the pain; she watches in silence as his bag rests on the sofa, fully packed. None of his things were in sight, and his pillow was left neatly on the edge of the couch. He looks at her, carefully and brokenly, and she attempts to calm herself, speak, utter something to make him stay.

'I'm sorry,' is the only thing she hears. Her palms sweat, and her legs start to wobble, and she's feeling anxious because he is leaving, again, and there is nothing she is doing about it.

'Why does it feel like I've lived this exact moment before?'

'I can't do this, Blake. Not again. You don't know how hard it was to get over you. I never want to feel like that about anyone ever again, and staying here is making that more and more unrealistic.'

Her hair is messy and knotted at the base of her neck, and her hands burn to touch him, stop him.

_I don't want to let you go._

'I really don't know what to say to make you stay...' she is almost crying, and she feels so pathetic.

'Don't say anything. You'll just make it that much harder than it is. I can't fall any deeper in love with you, Blake, and I'm dangerously close to that.'

She wants to smile and laugh with happiness, but at the same time, the double edge of his words cuts deep within her, so she just whimpers when he starts walking towards her front door, and hastily follows.

Penn doesn't stop to face her, because turning around to leave again will be so much harder the longer it's delayed, so he unlocks the latch and lets the door fall open.

And just like that, fate plays that wild card that changes everything.

He hadn't seen the tall Canadian in a while, and he remembered how intimidating he used to find him. Suddenly, it's easier to leave than he thought.

'Ryan?' he hears her whisper, as he climbs down her wooden stairs, his footprints disappearing in the snow as the snowflakes fall.


	5. Chapter 5

Her first instinct is to run after Penn, as soon as she realises otherwise she's losing him forever. But Ryan's strong, cold hand wraps around hers, pulling her towards him, and she stands in his hold, helpless gaze focused on another man's back as he disappears in the snowfall.

They sit on her sofa, tension that she realised had nothing to do with passion between them, and she contemplates over the fact that he doesn't seem to fit as well as Penn did. He holds his hands in hers as he speaks, words she hears but doesn't listen to. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she cries for the way her perfect haven has turned out to be. She cries because _he_ is not part of it anymore.

Her eyes glaze over Ryan's eyes, his beautiful, perfect Hollywood features, and she wishes she was looking at the perfectly imperfect slant of a narrower nose, feeling a prickly cheek against her skin, to make her shiver and sigh at the touch. She wishes she loved the Canadian as much as she did before. That blind, ignorant, easy way. She wishes she could detach her brain from her heart, she wishes her decisions were made for her. She looks at that man in front of her, that beautiful, stoic, perfect man, and she feels giddy, maybe, with the anxiety of what he's here to say (although she kind of has a slight clue). She looks at him, and she wants to feel more, because it would probably be easier. She feels a lot of things. But love is not one of them.

Ryan's words suddenly ring in her ears. Her attention is tortured to the fact that he's now resting on one knee in front of her, a hand letting go of hers, rummaging through his pocket, and she cries even harder, and louder, and he takes that as a good thing. He says he wants to hold her forever.

He has no idea she doesn't want to be held.

'Blake, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

Love is complicated. It hurts, cuts deep and painfully. It's sorrowful, and hard, but when it's right, it's liberating, salvaging, the best thing in your life.

She loves Penn. She loves him more and more with every second that she misses him. But it's a hard love; it's complicated, all consuming, damaging, painful. It's a great love.

Ryan was the easy way out. Ryan was the only way out; sometimes, there's nothing wrong with the easy way out.

She cries in his mouth as he kisses her, after he slides a diamond on her finger. He takes that as a good thing.

-xoxo-

He tells her he wants their wedding in New York, and it's not the first time he tells her. It raises an argument. That is the last thing she wants.

He storms out of her house, and the glass she holds breaks in her hand with the anger in her system. She cries as blood flows in between her fingers, deep red intricacies staining the clarity of the rock on one of them. Her hands shake as she runs them through cold water, and she cries out with pain at the contact with water. But it's nothing like the pain within her.

As she slides in her bed, her left hand bandaged and her front door unopened since he slammed it when he left, she falls asleep without realising her engagement ring was still lying in a tiny puddle of blood on her bathroom counter.

-xoxo-

She finds herself in an aeroplane seat, destination NYC. Her mother is waiting for them at the airport, and Vera Wang, Louboutin and Martha Stewart are waiting for them in the city. The A-List wedding of the century.

She wanted _a wedding_.

The JFK terminal is full with cameras and reporters, and as Ryan holds her hand and drags her through the crowd, her free hand shielding her eyes, she remembers the way she felt when she dropped out of university.

She failed.

-xoxo-

Her agent and manager is fuming for exactly two minutes after seeing her for the first time since she arrived on American soils, and then goes back into business mode, throwing names of magazines that want the rights to publish their wedding pictures. She agrees with everything. This wasn't _her_ wedding.

'If we work smartly, I can ensure only what you want is published. Write me a couple of headlines you want in the papers, and draw me a list of what you definitely don't want to read the morning after your wedding. I'll be back tomorrow to collect it.'

She cries as she writes a single 'happy' on a piece of paper.

-xoxo-

'You're not getting cold feet, are you?' Ryan whispers in the darkness, his cold hands wrapped around hers as they lay in his bed.

She smiles, and kisses his lips. 'Have you given me reason to?'

Things were bound to get easier. They simply had to.

-xoxo-

The wedding planner shouts something in a delicate microphone that frames her stocky face perfectly, her expensive shoes echoing against the marble floor as she paces around nervously.

'I'm sorry, Blake, there is a crisis with the flowers. I'll come back when you need to start walking. Pin that strand of hair back; Jessica Biel's done the 'messy look' last week. You want to inspire, not be inspired.'

Her heart hurts at the viciousness of this world.

-xoxo-

'How is my beautiful baby sister doing?' Robyn asks as she makes her way around the corner. When the redhead sees her, her delicate frame shaking with sobs as she sat on an armchair, head in hands, veil thrown to the side of the sofa, she runs to the blonde's side, wrapping her arms tenderly around her.

'Blake...' she sooths, as she sobs softly in her shoulder.

'I wanted this to be the happiest day of my life,' the blonde whispers, and breathes in a long, wet breath, as her sister strokes her face, wiping the streaks of darkness flowing over her perfect skin. 'What is wrong with me? Why can't I be happy?'

Robyn rubs her thumbs underneath her tired eyes.

'Because you're not letting yourself.'

'Is he...'

'No, I didn't see him downstairs. Forget about him, Blake. End that part of you.'

'You have no idea how hard I'm trying,' she says and dabs the back of her hand harshly against her skin, smudging her makeup.

Her sister giggles, and kisses her cheek. 'Here, I'll help you.'

Once her face is pristine again, Blake breathes in deeply and smiles. She can play a role for one night. Like Marilyn Monroe. Like Elisabeth Taylor. Serena van der Woodsen. She can play a role for her whole life.

A short brunette pokes her head through the door and asks for Robyn. Urgently. Once she is alone again, Blake arranges her dress in the mirror and flicks her ring around her finger. Her hair is pinned up and her lips are an elegant red, her curves generous.

_I'm Marilyn Monroe. _

-xoxo-

When her door opens again, she hopes it's her wedding planner. She looks for her bouquet, a well rehearsed smile on her face.

_Blake, over here! Smile for the camera!_

'You look exactly like I thought you would. Breathtaking.'

The voice behind her is the one her heart is tuned to. It starts beating faster, and she is stopped dead in her tracks, that fake smile wiped off her cheeks in an instant.

She turns around to face him, and her chest hurts at the sight of him, as imperfectly perfect as he's always been in a crisp tuxedo.

_She's playing a role._ She can find her voice. She's Marilyn Monroe.

She forgets he can see right through that.

'What are you doing here? Robyn said...'

'Robyn doesn't know. Don't worry,' he starts, when he sees she wants to argue. 'I'm just here to congratulate you. I want this to be everything you've ever wanted.'

She's Marilyn Monroe. She smiles. 'It is.'

His lips stretch into a pained distortion of a smile. 'Really? The whole world is downstairs. What happened to 'just us two and Robyn'?'

She swallows in vain, and the emptiness burns her throat as it fills her stomach.

'Penn. Why are you here?'

He walks up to her, stops a foot before her, and breathes her in. And her hands tremble a little by her sides.

'I just wanted to see you. Before you became Mrs Ryan Reynolds. To wish you luck and love in your marriage. I know how important it is to you.' His voice is genuine, and she hates that.

There is a part of her that wants him to fight for her, to tell her he loves her, to want her back. To stop this wedding, and run away with her. There is a part of her that loathes him for doing this to her, being here when it's hard enough as it is, but the same part detests herself more for allowing him to do it to her.

She needs to be stronger.

'Thank you. It means a lot.' It doesn't mean anything. She will always love him more.

'I wanted to make sure you were happy.'

Her eyes close as her lungs fill with air. 'I am.'

He laughs gently, ironically. 'You're a great actress, Blake. But you forget I know you more than anyone.'

Her eyes burn with the prospect of tears, and she blinks quickly, repeatedly, to keep them away. She cannot cry in front of him.

'Don't,' she whispers, defeated. 'Please don't make this any harder. I'll be happy.'

'That's all I've ever wanted for you.'

His arms extend before him in the silence, and she wants to reject him so badly, but she can't. She takes a couple of steps towards him, and buries herself in his arms, his head fitting against him as well as it always did.

'I know I shouldn't tell you this,' he speaks in her hair, his breath tickling the tip of her ear, 'but wherever you'll be in the world, I'll be somewhere, too, loving you. Forget what I said; this is my only chance to be honest with you. I will always love you, Blake.'

Tears spread in the material of his coat, and she cries quietly against him.

'The only reason you can't say it is because it makes no sense.'

He laughs gently. 'I know. But that doesn't mean I can help it.'

She pulls away just so she can look at him, and the pain in her eyes causes his to close.

'This is goodbye, Blake. I want to remember you smiling. You should always smile.'

She complies, to the best of her abilities, and when he sees her smile brokenly, with tears in her eyes and perfection adorning her features, he bends his head just a little and presses his mouth against his.

They pull away, and she lets out a loud sob for the first time since he arrived. 'I'm going to miss that,' she attempts to joke, and they laugh together, her hands creeping to his face.

'Good. I thought I was getting soft.'

She looks at him, at the eyes she could read better than anyone's, and she doesn't feel anything but passion as she kisses him again, this time like he's the one she's marrying. Like she loves him. As if she would ever not.

He sinks into the kiss, and his hands grip hungrily at her waist as she slips her tongue in his mouth. Both of them know this is goodbye; but either of them cares as he holds her tightly against his, her dress ruffled between them. Her hands knot in his hair, and she moves her mouth to his cheek, kissing him there softly, tenderly, perfectly.

'We should stop, Blake... You're getting married,' he breathes against her neck, and it vibrates against his lips as she speaks.

'We should. But I don't want us to.'

She turns the brass key in its hole, and he pulls her with him to the sofa, and her hands fumble with the delicate tie of her dress at the nape of her neck, allowing it to fall undone. His fingers tug at the material of her bodice, pulling it down her sides, and, as her hands run across his back, under the cover of his coat, the dress pools by her ankles. She lies on the sofa, and he lies on top of her, the feel of her curves against his chest rushes his hands to his belt, unclasping it.

He holds her like she's the best thing he'll ever have, and she doesn't realise that to him, she always will be.

She whimpers softly in his mouth, and tears sprawl on both of their cheeks, and as they fall into their rhythm, she clings tightly to him, her nails digging into his back.

A breathless _I love you_ floats around them.

-xoxo-

He makes a bow at the bottom of her neck, and runs his hands over the surface of her back once he's done, and her head leans to one side, giving him access to her skin. He peppers it with kisses, his fingers gripping at her waist and moving over her stomach from behind. She twists in his arms and kisses him one last time. Softly, gently, sweetly. Their last kiss. The one she'll always remember him by.

A single tear leaks from the corner of her eye, and he brushes it away, a tender smile on his face.

Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and he smoothes it to frame her face, and she looks so beautiful, it pains him to think she'll never be his again.

'You look perfect. Ryan's a lucky guy; I hope he knows that...'

She smiles. 'I guess this moment is finally here. I always thought we would be more than ill-fated lovers saying goodbye again and again.'

He cups her face with his palms. 'I'll always love you,' he whispers, and presses his lips to the tip of her nose. 'Always.'

They hold hands for a moment longer, and he blows her a fleeting kiss just before he disappears out her door.

She pinches her nose tightly to stop the sobs from escaping, and when her door opens again, she twirls around in a heartbeat, hoping it was him.

'Blake, it's time.'

She's Marilyn Monroe. At least she'll try to be.

_**A/N:**__ I'm sorry for the long wait! I wrote this chapter ages ago, but had the impression I already posted it! I'm not sure about it. I hope you guys like it; please review to let me know if you do. Lots of love to my beautiful DS family. _


	6. Chapter 6

People stand. The music begins. It's show time.

Her father links her arms with hers, and kisses her cheek softly. Ahead of her, her sister's children run with a rain of petals following them. They giggle as they reach the altar and grip onto their mother's hands. The maid of honour.

Robyn watches Blake carefully as she takes her first step down the long, narrow aisle, and cameras flash and the crowd sighs as she passes them.

Her eyes lock with Ryan's. He's beaming. Giddy. Everything she's pretending to be.

Her hand is placed in his.

'Dearly beloved...'

Everything is tuned out as she catches a certain dark-haired man with a creased suit and a glint in his eyes with the corner of hers. He stands at the back of the church, his gaze locked on hers.

'Blake Christina Lively, do you take this man as your husband, for better and for worse, until death do you part?' Her eyes quickly flicks to the priest, then to Ryan, and when she searches the back of the church for Penn again, her gaze can't find his to lock with once more.

'I... I can't.'


	7. Chapter 7

'Please tell me this is just a misunderstanding,' he says once the door is shut behind them, and she expects to hear resentment in his voice.

_Ihateyou. _

In some ways, she hates herself.

But all she perceives is defeat. She knows he's trying as hard as he can to hold on to the last thread of her. She wants to sever it; quickly, instantly. The sooner she does, the sooner he falls, the sooner he can get back up again. Move on, forget her and her selfish, disgusting ways of holding on to people just because she doesn't want to be alone.

In some respects, she's more like Serena van der Woodsen than she would ever admit.

She stands in front of him, her wedding dress stained with infidelity; the thought of ever getting married in it destroys her. Her hands are knotted in front of her, and her eyes drop just enough to be able to watch them, lying together tentatively by her stomach.

'Blake,' he walks in front of her, his steps heavy and harsh against the ground. He extends his palms in front of him, as if he wants to touch her shoulders, maybe even shake them a little, to bring her back to what he wanted to be her reality.

But they just hang in the space between them for a moment, before he sighs and drops them by his side again.

She wants to cry because she wants him to sympathise with her in some way, but there are no tears to shed, because not even her body agrees with her as she breaks the heart of a man who's broken her own a long time ago.

'I really am sorry.'

Her words are soft, and gentle, and he smiles sadly before her. 'What for?' A losing battle.

'For wanting to be as in love with you as –'

'As you are with him?' he interrupts, and his deep eyes close as he awaits her answer.

She shakes her head. 'As I should have been. I wanted us to work, I wanted a future with you. At least I thought I did...'

'We had no chance of a future when you were so hung up on your past with him.'

Ryan watches her tiredly as she blinks harshly, and looks away.

'You were the same about Scarlett.'

'You're right. But I let her go before I made you a part of my life.'

Tears finally pool at the bottoms of her eyes.

'Ryan,' she whispers, and walks closer to him, in her ruined white dress, taking his hand in hers, as if 'til death us do part' floats around them.

He doesn't pull away from her touch; but he doesn't respond to it either.

'I just want you to be honest with me. You owe me at least that. Was there ever a point when you only loved me?'

She wants to whisper yes. To say yes, to _shout_ it.

_Yesyesyesyesyes. _

She searches within her, deep inside her, for the simple, mending, easy yes.

But she breathes out a weak _no_. Because he asked her to be honest.

-xoxo-

She is a walking scandal. She doesn't buy the daily newspaper, or turn on the TV, because she can guarantee, nine times out of ten, her name will be mentioned.

Ryan becomes the victim; and she's glad of it. He's the one that deserves the support.

She doesn't feel like she belongs anymore; New York is not her home, and it becomes damn well obvious when she's not 'the nicest celebrity' anymore, but someone 'who breaks hearts just because she can'.

Her manager made sure to fill her in on that one.

LA is hostile too. She flies over there with Robyn the day after her almost-wedding, but she finds herself much too soon on a flight back to Newark.

'Stay, Blakie. You've never been one to care what they say,' her sister tries, as the blonde hides in her shoulder. They embrace in an airport terminal, with people that glance repeatedly in her direction, maybe because they remember her from her show; she thinks it's because they judge her for her failures. It feels too final.

'I don't care what they say.' She tries to believe that herself. 'I care what Penn hears.'

-xoxo-

She finds herself outside his apartment block yet again, the fourth time that week. She paces on the pavement, and comes up with a thousand things to say.

Isn't _I love you _enough, though?

She wants to ring his doorbell, and run up to the third apartment on the first floor, and take care not to trip over the doormat like she's done so many times before, but she's too damn scared.

She's scared because she hurt him, and he hurt her, and she wants them to forget that, but she doesn't think they can. She's scared because she knows that there's been so much between them, and if they don't work now, they will never work. She's scared because she knows he loves her; and she's not sure she deserves it.

It becomes routine to just look up to where his window is, secretly hope to see his face peering through the curtains, and get in the first cab back to her apartment outside of Manhattan.

-xoxo-

There's nothing left for her in the US. She doesn't want a career anymore, because it seems she can't have the one that she actually wants; actress, not celebrity.

She books a flight to Paris. She'll repair herself where she now belongs.


	8. Chapter 8

He pulls a few strings and manages to run all the way to her gate. He laughs a little to himself as his gaze rests on her back.

Because she was exactly where Robyn said she'd be.

Expensive luggage by her feet, blond hair escaping the confines of her hat, pink encased pillow underneath her arm. The same pillow she always carries. He remembers his forehead against hers and their fingers knotted in between their seats, and easy, true _I love you_s spoken as if they were the only suitable words at that moment.

She's late for her flight; she's the last one to present her boarding pass beneath letters made out by bright red bulbs which read 'last call'.

He likes to call it 'fate'.

'When were you planning on telling me your last name hasn't changed since the last time I saw you?' His voice echoes around the room, and she stops just before her foot falls to a point she cannot return from.

'Sir?' he hears around him, and he throws 'just give us a minute,' in that direction.

She looks at him; his faded navy T-shirt untucked in his jeans, despite the cold weather. His brown eyes warm and perfect, and telling her a thousand words his mouth couldn't quite utter.

'I should be so damn angry at you right now,' he warns just before he reaches her, but once he does, his hands wrap around her face and bring her mouth to his in an instant. This kiss is deep, and coaxing, and she sinks into it almost immediately, her fingertips touching his chest tentatively.

-xoxo-

This time, she makes it to the third apartment on the first floor, and, just as she knew she would, she trips over the harmless doormat. He laughs as he strengthens his grip on her hand, offering her support.

'I'm looking forward to the day when you won't do that,' he teases, as he buries his nose in her hair and kisses her head.

They lie on his bed, her in just one of his shirts, and him in his pyjama bottoms and her favourite T-shirt, and her head rests on his shoulder. One of his arms is tight around her shoulders, his fingers playing aimlessly with strands of her hair, while his other hand holds at her waist because he finally can.

She tilts her chin so she can see him, and he smiles at her.

'Don't you feel like we need to talk?' she asks, her voice almost shaken by tears, and she slips a hand underneath his top, resting it over his bellybutton.

'We can talk about anything you want. It won't change a thing.'

'I just need to know you'll love me again like you used to. Even if you said you didn't want to.'

He touches his lips to her forehead, and shuffles so that her body is half covered by his. He kisses her temple, and her cheek, and the side of her nose, and his arms hold her as tightly as they can against him.

'I'll love you more.'

-xoxo-

She unlocks the front door of her tiny French cottage, and he scoops a hand under her knees, carrying her over the threshold and the pile of unopened envelopes. She giggles against his neck as she kisses him there, and he drops her on the bed, then runs to ensure the house is locked and their luggage is inside.

She laughs softly to herself as she removes her coat and shoes and sits in the middle of the bed. She contemplates undoing the buttons of his shirt she's wearing; but she doesn't when she remembers just how much he enjoyed doing it himself.

'This place hasn't changed,' he mentions as he returns to her bedroom (their bedroom now). 'I guess that's the best thing about it.'

'And why's that?' she asks almost teasingly, as she sits on his lap, her knees by his thighs, and her hands sliding over his shoulders and through his hair.

'Because we don't have to change with it if we don't want to,' he responds, and touches his lips to the exposed skin of her neck as she leans her head to one side.

His hands roam as they kiss, hungrily feeling the curves of her waist and the swell of the sides of her breasts. They fall to her thighs and rest there, as her own fingers meddle with the base of his jumper, irking it slowly up and over his head. She places a feathery kiss to his bare shoulder, and buries her face in it as she feels his hands slip under her shirt, caressing the skin of her back.

'You know...' she whispers in his ear, her breath tickling. 'I think I might have forgotten to wear a bra today,' she says, and grazes the edge of his earlobe with her teeth.

He laughs a little in her hair as he undoes the top button. 'That much easier for me, baby.'

Her back presses against the cold mattress and he hovers over her, impatiently sliding his fingers underneath the band of her leggings and tugging gently at them. She arches her back, her stomach pressed against his chest, and her hips raised a little in the air, so he can slide the item of clothing down her legs, paying little interest to the flimsy underwear he was removing at the same time. She wiggles her feet and they drop by the foot of her bed, and her hands are quick to undo his pants, which quickly join her own.

'You are so beautiful,' he whispers, and nudges her nose with his, and she giggles against him, as she moves her legs, making room for him between them.

Blake kisses the shell of his ear. 'I'm all yours,' she promises.

He places a feathery kiss over the corner of her mouth, easy and perfect, and her heart beats frantically in her chest as he responds with a sincere 'so am I'.

He unbuttons her shirt, with less patience than he thought he had, and skims his nose over her collar bone, tracing a path of kisses to her bellybutton and back.

He wants to ask her if she's ready before it all happens, but her hands are firm against his back, and she hooks a leg around his waist like that's where it belongs, and he makes sure to smooth her hair the whole time they make love, and his words just float as mere intentions around them.

His head falls against her shoulder, and the fact that she is breathing heavily and loudly in his ear makes everything surreal and heavenly.

He moans her name, and she moans his, and when everything ends he slides his hands between the burning sheets and the small of her back, and brings her up with him, her chest pressed against his, and her ankles locked behind them.

'You alright?' he inquires almost instinctively, kisses her sweaty cheek, and he feels a hidden sense of pride when she allows her forehead to fall against his own and responds with a breathless 'yes'.

He smiles crookedly. 'I love you so much, you know?'

Her thumb lingers over his bottom lip. 'Yeah, I do.'

'You make me so happy... And I'm so grateful to have you...' he confesses in between kisses to her neck, her shoulder, her jaw.

She kisses him back, languorously, her mouth lingering that much longer over his.

'You know how they say Hollywood couples don't last,' she utters later, when their legs are intertwined, and she lies on his chest, her eyes heavy and her breathing slow. 'We'll prove them wrong. Right?'

She tilts her head to look at him, her chin poking his skin, and he frames the side of her head with his palm, thumb rubbing briefly over the apple of her cheek.

'Sweetheart, we've never been a Hollywood couple. We'll grow old together.'

-xoxo-

She wears a lilac dress that falls off her shoulder, and her feet are bare, and they run hand in hand, the bunch of flowers she was holding on to trailing _farfar _behind them. He picks her up and spins her around, and kisses her senseless. And she's intoxicated with his kiss, and he's drunk on her touch, and they hold on to each other like they promised.

It ended up being just them and Robyn.

_**A/N:**__ Right, after a lengthy wait, here it is, guys. What I think is the last chapter. Lots of love to Chiara and the rest of my DS family, and I hope you guys will __**review**__ this if you like it. _


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